


Glad and Golden Hours

by as_with_a_sunbeam



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hamliza Month, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27818221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_with_a_sunbeam/pseuds/as_with_a_sunbeam
Summary: A collection of snapshots in the lives of Alexander and Elizabeth Hamilton__For the Hamliza Month challenge
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Comments: 34
Kudos: 107





	1. Baking

**Baking**

“Oh my goodness,” Eliza said, eyes widening as she stopped in the threshold to the kitchen. Granted, she’d left the kitchen in less than pristine condition after cooking all morning, but it had grown markedly worse in her absence. Ingredients were scattered everywhere, the distinct charcoal scent of burnt food hung heavy in the air, and flour covered the whole scene like snowfall. “What on earth happened in here?”

“Wait, wait, I’m coming.” Hamilton sounded breathless behind her, his footsteps drumming down the stairs. His hands came to rest on her cloak-clad shoulders, his body warm behind hers. “I’m here.”

She leaned into him and craned her head around. “What did you do?”

“I knew how busy you were today, with all the preparations for dinner with the President,” he said, thumbs stroking over her shoulders. “I finished up my report a bit ago, and I wanted to help. So, while you were out running errands, I brought the little ones down to get a start on dessert.”

She looked back at the destroyed kitchen. “It looks like our cabinets exploded.”

“Yeah, it may have taken a turn for the worse,” he agreed, nose wrinkling as he surveyed the scene before them. “Alex was a bit overenthusiastic with the flour. And timing pie is surprisingly tricky.”

A little laugh escaped her despite herself as she pictured the chaotic scene.

He gave her a little smile, hopeful, even as he apologized, “Sorry. I really meant to clean up before you got home. I was sidetracked trying to wrangle Alex and Angelica into a bath. They were wearing more pie filling then we’d managed to get in the tin.”

“I can only imagine.” She took note of his damp shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, and the lack of little terrors on the scene. Sighing, she patted at his shoulder and started to remove her cloak, trying to prepare herself to attack the cleaning before she could start baking. “Well, I appreciate the attempt, sweetheart.”

“Not just an attempt,” he said, straightening, his smile turning to a grin. “Dessert is ready.”

“Is it?” Skepticism was heavy in her voice.

“Yes.”

“You know we can’t serve the Washingtons burnt pie, right?”

“It’s perfectly good pie,” he said firmly.

“You’re sure?” 

“Yes. Don’t worry about it.”

She stared at him. 

“I promise,” he pressed, drawing a cross over his heart with an index finger. He stepped around her and crossed over to the side table, where he uncovered a beautiful fruit pie with a golden lattice crust that had been hidden beneath a gingham cloth. “See?”

She followed his path, shocked. “You made this?”

“I made—” He hesitated, weighing his words, “—sure we had dessert.”

She arched an eyebrow.

His eyes flicked down as he admitted, “I sent Mary out to the bakery while I got the children cleaned up.”

She laughed. “That I’ll believe.”

“At least you don’t have to bake.”

“Just clean up,” she parried, voice fond. She leaned against him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I am sorry,” he said, kissing her temple as he encircled her in an embrace. “I’ll help with the tidying.”

“Like you helped with the baking?”

“Yes.” His cheeks flushed slightly, but he insisted, “I got there in the end, didn’t I?” 

“You always do.” She squeezed him tight and kissed his pink cheek. “Thank you, my love.” 


	2. Painting

**Painting**

“I think you’re meant to use a brush for that, my dear little fellow,” Hamilton said.

He knelt down next to table where Philip was seated, his little hands covered in paint as he slapped happily at the paper in front of him. The paints had been a gift for Eliza, originally, a subtle encouragement for her to keep up her artistic talents in any stolen moments of leisure time. Their young son had ended up making far more use of them than she had, however.

“Look,” Pip said, hands held up in the air as he gazed proudly at his creation. The many colors decorating the paper had blended together into an unattractive brown on his hands.

“Very nice,” Hamilton praised. “Why don’t we get you washed up before we show Mama?”

Pip whined unhappily, wiggling his fingers.

“Come on, now. None of that.” He did his best to sound stern.

Pip bit his lip, considering, then reached out and patted his hands against Hamilton’s cheeks. Hamilton froze for a moment. The paint felt wet and sticky against his skin. Running a finger over his cheek, it came away the same unpleasant brown color as his son’s hands. He closed his eyes, fighting hard not smile or laugh. The little imp grinned up at him.

“Philip,” he said, forcing a note of warning into his voice.

Pip laughed and patted at his own cheeks, leaving matching brown smudges on his chubby cheeks.

The laugh bubbled out of him despite himself. He covered his mouth with his hand, shoulders shaking. “Silly boy,” he sighed.

Having won a display from amusement from his father, Pip eagerly scooped some blue paint from the well before him and drew his finger down his father’s nose, giggling madly at the result. Grinning, Hamilton scooped some red from a nearer well and copied the action. He rubbed a red dot on his son’s button nose.

“What are you two doing?” Eliza asked. They both stilled, turning to look at her. She was standing just outside the door in the hallway, a basket of clean laundry in hand and fondness coloring her expression.

“Painting?”

“You know, you’re supposed to do that on paper, not each other?”

“Pip started it,” he said, faux-defensively.

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, well, that’s all right, then.”

Sneaking a mischievous look at his son, he scooped out some more paint and rubbed it between his hands. Pip clapped his hands in excitement.

“What are you doing?” A note of wariness had entered Eliza’s voice as he turned back to her. “Alexander! No!”

He charged at her, paint-slick hands held out.

“Not the laundry,” she pleaded, dropping the basket and kicking it aside before he could get to her. She made no real attempt to escape herself, he noted.

He planted his hands firmly on her cheeks and leaned in for a kiss. She still had her eyes squeezed shut when he pulled away, but she was grinning. He let go of her. Head tilting to the side, he examined his bright blue hand prints now decorating her face. “Beautiful.”

“I can’t believe you,” she said, brushing her thumb over her cheek. It came away stained with blue paint.

“That’s a lovely color on you,” he remarked. She shoved at him playfully. Leaning back with a laugh, he pressed, “You should wear it more often.”

“That’s it.” She pushed past him into the playroom and scooped paint into her own hand. Pip gleefully followed her example, and soon Hamilton was attempting to fight off both of them while they endeavored to cover his entire face in blue, yellow, and brown.

He was lying on the floor under both of them, spent from laughing, when a thought occurred to him. “This does wash off, right?”

Eliza adjusted her head on his chest, lips pursed, expression somewhere between concerned and amused. “Eventually?”

“What?”

She laughed, snuggling into him.

“Eliza, I have court tomorrow.”

“Well, don’t get cross with me. I didn’t start it. You should have thought of that earlier.”

“Eliza!”

She nudged her green-coated nose against his jaw. “Maybe the judge will grant you a continuance?”

“Doubtful.” Embarrassing as tomorrow was likely to be if he couldn’t get his face clean, though, he couldn’t find it in him to be truly cross. At least he wasn’t due to face a jury. “Maybe I’ll wear a mourning veil?”

“For whom would you be mourning?”

“My dignity?”

“That loss was far too long ago to merit full mourning, my dearest.”

He tickled her side in retribution. “Maybe the judge will rule in my favor out of pity. That’s likely my only chance of succeeding on this motion, anyway.”

“There, see.” She kissed his cheek, her lips coming away stained with brown paint. “For the best.”

He growled teasingly, then laughed as Pip clambered up his other side, tiny hands reaching out for his face again.


	3. Seashells

**Seashells**

“Come on! We’re late already!” Angelica called, several paces ahead and kicking up a sandstorm behind her as she marched across the beach. “I promised Peter the first dance on my card!”

Betsey made a face at her sister’s rapidly retreating back, deliberately slowing her pace. The poor maid chaperoning them had already fallen some distance behind, struggling over the difficult landscape of Angelica’s so-called shortcut. Angelica had been growing increasingly intolerable over the past months. She delighted in tossing aside all former interests for boys and ballgowns. The gulf between twelve and thirteen seemed to widen each day. For her part, Betsey couldn’t say she cared if they ever made it to the dance at all, much less if they were on time.

Peggy giggled beside her and leaned in to whisper confidentially, “She’s getting bossier by the day.”

Betsey rolled her eyes in agreement, just as Angelica called back again, “Come on!”

It was as she was gazing down, doing her best to walk as slowly as possible, that the shell caught her eye. Half buried in the sand, the loop of coral shimmered in the sunlight, shiny from the seawater that had uncovered it. Betsey waited for the latest wave to retreat before plucking it up.

“It’s so pretty,” Peggy said.

Indeed, it looked like something out of a story book: hollow, coiled, with spirals decorating the outside. Just in the center, the spiral curved back on itself slightly, in such a way as to form an almost perfect little heart. Betsey ran her finger over it, smiling, before holding the shell to her ear.

“Listen,” she said, holding the shell to her sister’s ear in turn. “You can hear the ocean.”

“It’s like something a mermaid would use. A way to call to their true love across the ocean.” Peggy sighed at the romance of her own fancy. Leaning back to inspect the shell again, she added, “Look, there’s even a little heart in the middle.”

“I saw that, too,” Betsey said. She traced the little heart with her thumb again.

“Are you going to keep it?”

Betsey considered a moment, then shook her head. “No. I think we let it continue on its quest, don’t you?”

Peggy grinned and nodded.

Winding her arm back, Betsey threw the shell and watched it bob atop a wave before being swallowed back into the ocean.

“What are you two doing?” Angelica cried, some distance away.

Betsey stared out the horizon for a long moment before reluctantly setting off again after her sister.

**

The sun was beginning to set on the horizon when Alex toed his shoes off, letting his toes curl into the wet, warm sand. He plopped down and wrapped his arms around his knees. A white sail was visible in the distance, and he let his eyes follow its course until it disappeared, daydreaming all the while what it might be like to be carried away from this miserable little island to some exciting, distant place.

When the waves began to creep closer, he put his hands down to scoot backwards, and winced when his palm pressed down into something hard. Fishing the object out from the sand, he squinted in the dusky light: a seashell, peculiar in how perfectly formed it was, like something out of a fairy tale. He traced his index finger over the spiral pattern that terminated in what appeared to be a tiny natural heart shape.

Smiling, he slid the shell into his pocket and returned his gaze to the horizon.


	4. Candlelight

**Candlelight**

The fire was burning low, but the master bedroom was aglow with soft, warm candlelight. Hamilton slipped inside and clicked the door shut behind him, rubbing his red raw hands together to encourage the blood flow after his short walk home in the freezing cold. Damp from the heavy snow had seeped through his cloak, only adding to the chill. The warmth of the room washed over him, though, his muscles relaxing as if he'd submerged himself in a hot bath. 

He watched her sleep for a long beat. Her chest rose in a steady rhythm, and her eyes moved beneath her closed lids. Perhaps she was dreaming. He moved closer, careful to keep his steps light so as not to rouse her. Stooping down, he attempted to adjust the pillows beneath her without disturbing her.

Despite his efforts, her eyes flew open immediately at his touch. She inhaled sharply, startled, her hands flying out to push him away. “What—”

“Shh,” he hushed, catching her hands. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s only me. Go back to sleep.”

She sighed. Pulling a hand away, she rubbed at her eyes. “You’re late,” she charged, when she seemed to have gathered her bearings. “I was waiting for you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just have so much to do before the close of the year.” 

“Even on Christmas eve?”

He nodded. The heaps of reports weighing down his desk wouldn’t wait, even for the holiday. “I managed to get through enough tonight to take most of tomorrow, at least.”

She frowned. “Most of tomorrow?” 

“You caught that,” he said, trying for a charming smile.

“I did.” She didn’t look particularly charmed.

“I’ll be there for church, and dinner, of course.”

Her lips remained drawn into a displeased line.

He glanced around again at the candles burning low all around them. She must have had a romantic evening planned. How much he would have preferred to be here with her rather than locked away in his cold, lonely office. “I’m sorry, my angel. After new years’ day, I’ll have more time. I promise. ”

She hummed unhappily, but squeezed his hand, softening somewhat. “At least you’re here now. Though you feel half frozen. Your hands are icy.”

“It’s snowing,” he reported. “The streets were nearly covered.”

“Come get warmed up,” she said, releasing his hand to tug at the lapels of his coat.

He grinned, adjusting more fully onto the bed with her gentle encouragement. Something on the corner of the bedframe caught his eye as he climbed in properly. Inspecting it closer, he realized it was a sprig of mistletoe attached to the headboard.

“Was that for me?”

“Still can be,” she invited, her gaze turning sultry. “It’s not too late.”

He smiled. “It’s after midnight.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

He laughed as she pulled him down against her.

Mistletoe, candlelight, the warmth of her body against his: he couldn't imagine anything better.


	5. Flowers

**Flowers**

Alexander's elbow bumped against Eliza from his side of the bed, causing her to drop a stitch from her knitting. Fishing for the dropped loop with her needle, she glanced over at the paper her husband had been scratching at for the past quarter hour. He’d drawn a great circle on the bottom of the page, and was busy drawing small circles around the periphery. “What are you doing?”

“Hm?” he hummed, attention fixed on the writing desk. His glasses had slipped down as he’d been working, she noticed. He wrinkled his nose to try to right them.

She laid the knitting aside and slid over towards him. Rubbing one hand over his hunched shoulders, she reached out with the other to push his glasses back into place. He smiled and glanced over at her.

“Thank you.”

“What are you working on?” she repeated now that she had his attention. 

“The garden,” he said.

“What a strange way to garden,” she teased. She leaned her head against his shoulder, squinting at the page. “January is a bit out of season. And I’ve found trowels and seeds more effective than paper and ink, myself.”

“I’m jotting down my plans for the summer,” he said, his elbow bumping at her ribs affectionately. Gesturing with his quill, he indicated the circle he’d drawn. “Here, see, this is the flowerbed. We’ll have lilies, tulips, and hyacinths arranged thus. Then wild roses can grow around the outside.”

She smiled up at him while he finished notating the placement of the flowers. Nudging at him lightly, she asked, “How are we going to get in?”

“What?”

“You’ve got flowers going all the way around.”

He swore softly and swiftly drew a line across the circle to represent the footpath, striking through the little circles meant to represent the hyacinths. Sitting back, he nodded to himself, satisfied. “There.”

“Better,” she agreed.

A draft unsettled the heavy curtains over their windows and sent the candle on the bedside table dancing. She curled closer into Alexander’s warmth. He shifted, pressing closer as well. “That wind is awful,” he complained. 

“What else do you have planned?” she asked, closing her eyes.

“Laurel trees around the outside,” he continued, voice soft and soothing as he painted her a picture of their garden in summer. “Maybe some dogwoods. Not large, just scattered in the grove. That should provide ample shade in heat of the afternoon. We can move the fruit trees further down towards the orchard.”

She hummed, relaxing against him. He detailed the raspberries he wanted planted, the honeysuckle vines he wanted added to the bower at the bottom of the garden, the fences he wanted moved. Warm and content against him, she listened until his voice began to fade in and out, a far away, pleasing hum. 

“Betsey?” His nose nudged at her hair. “Are you awake?”

“Keep going,” she insisted.

He obeyed, though his voice was notably softer than before. She barely noticed when he shifted her off his shoulder onto the pillows. The room darkened as he blew out the candle. His arms wrapped around her, so warm and safe. She snuggled closer to him and dreamed of summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on a real sketch Hamilton made for his garden in 1803, along with his plans for how the garden would be laid out. I thought it would be sweet to have Eliza watching him work on it!


	6. Toxic

**Toxic**

“Ugh.” Hamilton shifted on the bed, his arm guarding his stomach. “This is horrible.” 

“I know, sweetheart,” she said. “Just relax. It’ll be over soon.”

He peeled one eye open and rasped, “That’s not the most diplomatic thing to say to someone who’s been poisoned.” 

“The pain will be over soon,” she clarified, reaching out to comb her fingers through his hair. “Not your life.”

“I’d take either at this point,” he said. He adjusted again, arm wrapping tighter around his middle as he placed his head in her lap. Snuggling against her, his cheek pressed into her stomach, he moaned, “Ooh. I’m dying.”

“You are not,” she said firmly. “You’re going to be fine. I made the same mistake when I was little. All of us did.”

Berry picking at the edge of the Schuyler property had been a time honored tradition amongst her siblings for as long as she could remember. And each of them had learned long ago, most through painful experience, to tell the perfectly edible ripe red berries of the undergrowth from the toxic red berries on the nearby holly bushes. Alas, her poor husband didn’t have the benefit of that long experience.

She’d been bouncing Philip on her hip when she heard her husband announce, “I don’t think these ones over here are quite ripe. Very bitter.”

She’d swung around in time to see him pop another holly berry into his mouth, nose wrinkling. Alarmed, she’d cried, “Don’t eat that!”

He’d swallowed, then froze, staring at her with wide eyes. “Why?”

“Honey, those are poisonous. How many did you have?”

“Poisonous!” His voice sounded strangled. 

She’d placed Philip into her sister’s arms and pressed, “How many?”

“Two or three.” 

“Oh, good. Thank God,” she’d sighed. Two or three might not make for a very pleasant evening, but he wasn’t likely in any real danger.

“Good?” he echoed, still horrified.

“Two or three won’t do any lasting damage,” she’d explained. Placing her arm on his, she moved them away from the group back towards the path to the house.

“What’s going to happen to me?” he’d asked, worried.

“You’ll be all right. But your belly probably isn’t going to feel very good.” Sure enough, not long after they’d arrived back at the house, he’d started curling in on himself, clearly in pain. She’d encouraged him to get sick, hoping to rid his system of the toxin, then tucked him into bed. He’d been curled up against her ever since.

He groaned from her lap again. “I hate this.”

“If it helps, it’s a mistake you won’t repeat. We all did it once. It’s like a family rite of passage.”

“I don’t care for it,” he said.

“I’m sorry for not thinking to warn you. All of us just know.” She tangled her fingers in the loose hair at his temples. “They didn’t teach you about poisonous berries in the army?”

“No.” He squirmed in place, palm splayed out over his middle. “Berry foraging somehow didn’t come up in basic training.”

“Quite an oversight, in my opinion.”

“Apparently.”

She laughed softly. “What I want to know is why did you keep eating them after you discovered they didn’t taste good?”

“I thought it was maybe just that one. Poisonous berries shouldn’t look so enticing.”

“Silly goose,” she teased affectionately.

He gave a wan smile, then moaned again, clutching at his belly. “Ow.”

“My poor darling,” she cooed. “Can I get you anything?”

He breathed deliberately through his nose for a minute. When he’d relaxed a little, he reached for her hand. Their fingers tangled together, his palm warm against hers. “Just you.” 

“I’m right here,” she said, leaning down to press a kiss to his sweaty forehead.

His eyelids drooped, fatigue weighing on him. She stretched out on the bed and encouraged him up until his head rested just over her heart. His breathing evened out as he rested against her.

“Pray tell,” he asked, voice soft and thick with sleep, “Are there any other potentially deadly family activities you’ve yet to warn me about?”

She hummed, thoughtful. “Well, Papa does have a penchant for hunting suitors who attempt to woo his daughters, but I think you’ve basically managed to avoid that. Maybe stay on your toes if you see him with a hunting rifle, though?”

“Hardy har.” He poked her playfully in the side. “Don’t tease me. I’ve been poisoned.”

“You poisoned yourself.”

“It’s still true.”

She laughed and rubbed his back. “Go to sleep, sweetheart."


	7. Book

**Book**

Something shifted under Hamilton’s palm, pulling him out of his light doze. He moved his hand over his chest and stomach, then down over the arms of his chair. Confused, he forced his eyes open. “Hm? Betsey?”

“What, honey?”

“What happened to my book?”

“What book?”

He sat up further, wiping his hand over his mouth. Glancing around at the floor, he didn’t see the book anywhere in sight. “I was reading.”

“I think you were sleeping, actually.”

“No I wasn’t,” he said, fighting a yawn. “Just resting my eyes.”

She exhaled a little laugh.

He rolled his head against the back of the chair to look at her. “What did you do with it?”

“With what?”

He could see a mischievous smile starting at the corners of her mouth, even as she remained focused on her sewing circle. “Come on,” he pressed, reaching out and running his fingertips over her silky sleeve. “Where’s my book?”

She caught her lip between her teeth, a tell-tale sign of her fibbing. “What makes you think I have it?”

Pushing himself up with a groan, he looked around the table and the sofa, but he didn’t see the book. He circled around and leaned closer to Eliza. His hand dipped into the space between the arm of the sofa and her leg. He felt only the soft ruffles of her dress.

Laughing, she shoved him away. “How dare you, sir?” 

“I know you have it,” he insisted as he reached around her to feel behind her back.

She leaned her weight back fully into the sofa cushions, trapping his hands behind her.

“Betsey.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, tugging him closer. So close, he could feel her breath, warm and sweet. “What?”

“My hands are trapped.”

“Oh no.” Her eyes sparkled. She didn’t sound particularly concerned. 

He tried to shift his hands down to see if he could feel the book behind her. He couldn’t move at all. “I’m really stuck.”

“Serves you right, feeling around a lady’s petticoats.”

He grinned.

Her lips caught his in a slow, soft kiss. He sighed, adjusted his nose around hers, he sank down into the seat next to her. She leaned into him, deepening the kiss. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the book flop down onto the cushion as she rolled into his lap.

He closed his eyes and pulled Eliza closer.

The book hadn’t been so interesting, after all.


	8. Whispers

**Whispers**

“Did you hear that?”

Eliza put her hand on Alexander’s chest. He pressed a final kiss to her collarbone before he pulled back, cool air sneaking into the gap in the blankets as he shifted in the bed. He leaned over her on his elbows, and his puffy lips pulled down into a frown at the interruption.

“What?”

“Listen,” she said.

Soft whispers were coming from down the hall. She cocked her head to the side to hear better, even as her fingers raked through Alexander’s hair. Little giggles accompanied an urgent shushing.

“Little monsters,” Alexander griped fondly. “They were supposed to be asleep hours ago.”

“We should go check on them.”

He grumbled, but pushed himself up the rest of the way to slide off the bed. She followed, quickly donning her dressing gown before catching up to him in the hallway. A little smile lit his face as he paused before the door, one hand on the knob. The whispers were still audible from the boys’ room, and the light from a candle spilled out from under the closed door, illuminating the hallway.

“Not fair,” Alex whined, louder than before.

“Shh,” Pip urged again.

“You’ll wake Mama and Papa,” Angelica added.

Alexander grinned at her before pushing open the door. “What’s going on in here?”

All three boys and Angelica yelped and scrambled for the beds. Angelica dove under the covers at the foot of Pip’s bed, while the boys’ tugged their blankets up over their heads. As if they thought might still fool their parents, Eliza thought, trying to cover her smile with her hand.

Alexander tugged the blankets back down from Pip’s face.

Pip squinted up at his father. “Papa?”

“Mm-hm.”

Pip pushed himself up, rubbing his fist into his eye. “I was sleeping.”

“Oh. Were you now?”

Pip nodded earnestly.

“My apologies.” Alexander chuckled and tickled Pip, prompting squeals of laughter from their oldest.

Eliza shook her head fondly at the pair. Stepping closer to the bed, she asked, “And what’s this giggly little lump under your covers?”

Angelica poked her head out of the blankets, grinning, her tongue sticking out through the gap of her missing front teeth. “Hi Mama.”

“Get back to your own bed, Geli bug,” Alexander said.

“Aw,” Angelica groaned, slithering out from the covers.

Eliza patted her back to encourage her along across the hall. “Come on. Everyone go to sleep. It’s well past bed time.”

“Can we have a story?” Jamie asked, poking his head out from his blankets.

“You already had a story.” Alexander adjusted Jamie’s blankets, purposefully tucking them into the mattress to hold him in. “It’s time to sleep.”

She tucked Angelica back in while Alexander blew out the light in the boys’ room.

When they finally collapsed back into their own bed, Alexander rolled towards her, smiling. “So, where were we?”

She grinned and tugged him towards her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay all, but I am going to try to catch up! Hope you enjoy!


	9. Waking Up

**Waking Up**

“Ugh,” Eliza grunted as a little foot jabbed into her stomach. She rolled to the side, peeling her eyes open and grabbing for her daughter. “What are you doing, sweetheart?”

“Papa.” Angelica continued to crawl over her towards her father, who was curled on his side on the other end of the bed.

“No, no,” Eliza said. She rubbed the little girl’s back as she stopped her progress. “Papa’s sleeping.”

Poor Alexander had been working late every night this week. She hated to see him woken up on the first night he’d managed to drop off at a decent hour. His absence the last few days was also likely the reason her little girl was so interested in seeing her father in the dead of night, though.

Angelica wiggled away from her, reaching out. “Papa,” she insisted.

“It’s the middle of the night. You should be in your bed.”

Angelica whined. “Play.”

“How about I read you a story?” Eliza suggested. She slid out of bed and scooped her daughter into her arms. Angelica pouted, wriggling in her grip.

Alexander sighed at the shifting of the bed. “What is it?”

“Nothing, darling,” she assured in a whisper. 

Angelica wriggled all the harder at the new sign of wakefulness. “Papa!”

He turned a little towards the cry, his eyes still closed. “Hm?”

“Go back to sleep,” Eliza said, petting her hand over his hair.

“Mm.” He turned his face into his pillow, snoring softly.

She carried Angelica back to her bedroom, lit a candle, and surveyed the bookshelf for something short to lull her daughter back to sleep. As she slid out a storybook, she heard little footsteps scurrying across the hall. Pip pushed open the door and peeped in, face bright and hopeful.

“Papa?”

“No, just me.”

Pip frowned. “Oh.”

Eliza sighed, trying not to take his obvious disappointment personally. “It’s late, sweetie. Go back to sleep.”

“Mama’s telling a story,” Angelica added helpfully.

Her little boy’s spirits brightened again. “I want to hear the story!”

“Shush,” Eliza urged. Getting him back to bed without a fuss seemed unlikely, so she capitulated, “Fine, come here, honey. I’ll tell you both a story.”

Pip scampered over and pulled himself up onto the little bed beside his sister. He examined the book she’d selected and said, “Not that one, Mama. I like the one with the little ducks.”

“Ducks!” Angelica agreed, bouncing with excitement, her little fists pounding the mattress.

“What is going?” Alexander appeared in the open doorway, still fixing his banyan, voice thick with a barely suppressed yawn. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”

“Papa!” Both the children surged off the bed and scrambled towards their father.

“I missed you,” Pip said, attaching himself to Alexander’s leg.

Angelica bounced on her toes, her arms held up in the air to be lifted. Alexander leaned down, lifting her onto his hip. Happy as a clam, Angelica pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek.

“Love you, too, Geli.” He kissed her back, smacking his lips loudly to make her giggle. “Was Mama telling you a story?”

“The one with the ducks,” Pip said, a deliberate fib. He glanced back at her over his shoulder, grinning.

Alexander noted the movement, and she saw his eyes land on the book in her lap knowingly. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Pip insisted.

“You tell it, Papa,” Angelica demanded. “You tell it the best!”

“How about we finish the story in Mama and Papa’s bed?”

The children whooped with delight, Pip charging off and Angelica toddling after him when Alexander lowered her onto the ground.

Eliza watched them disappear with a frown. “I was trying to get them back to sleep without waking you. You’ve been working so hard.”

He shrugged. “Well, I’m up now.”

She stood from the little bed, analyzing him. He had dark circles under his eyes, but his expression was soft and tender. When the sounds of the little ones bouncing on their bed carried down the hall, he laughed, shaking his head.

“I’m not sure more sleep is in the cards tonight, by the sound of it,” he noted. 

She smiled at him.

“What?” he asked, brow furrowing.

“Nothing.”

He grinned as she stepped towards him, wrapping him in an embrace and squeezing him tight. He squeezed her back, warm and tight. A squeal from down the hall made him laugh again, the sound rumbling in his chest.

He kissed her neck just under her ear. “I’m going to make some coffee. Tea?”

“Yes, please.” Before he could pull away fully, she nuzzled her nose against his. “I love you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His smile turned smug. “How much?”

She swatted at his shoulder. “Go make me tea.”

He made a face, kissed her again, then moved down the hall towards the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> A series of short and sweet one-shots in response to megpeggs and historysalt's Hamliza month prompts. I'll try my best to get something up for each prompt! Hope you all enjoy!


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